The Return Read Online Free PDF Page B

impossible now, of course.
    Impossible, and not of much interest either, presumably. If they ever did get to the bottom of this, a few broken twigs weren’t going to make any difference. There was no doubt at all that as things stood now, this crime and its perpetrator were far, far away from their grasp. In both time and space.
    Not to mention the victim.
    He started walking toward the village again.
    It suddenly struck him: What if nobody misses him? What if nobody has noticed that he’s disappeared?
    Nobody at all.
    The thought stayed with him. And if that little fat girl hadn’t happened to see him, years could have passed by without anybody missing him. Or finding him. It could have been an eternity. And meanwhile the process of decay and all the rest of it would have wiped out all trace of him. Why not?
    Apart from the odd bone, of course. And a grinning skull. Yorick, where are those hanging lips…. No, come to think of it, there was no head.
    And nobody would have needed to lift a finger.
    A totally unnoticed death.
    It was not a pleasant thought. He tried to dismiss it, but the only thing that replaced it was the clinically lit operating table and a limp, anesthetized body—his own.
    And the stranger dressed in green, brandishing razor-sharp knives over his stomach.
    He quickened his pace. Darkness had started to fall, and twenty minutes later as he stood outside the railroad station buying a pack of cigarettes, he also felt the first drop of rain on his hand.

7
    After some deliberation Rooth decided to phone rather than call round in person. It was more than ten miles to Blochberg and it was nearly half past seven.
    Afterward, when he replaced the receiver, he was relieved to think that at least the woman at the other end of the line didn’t know what he looked like. With a bit of luck, she wouldn’t be sure of his name either: He hoped that he had managed to mumble it so indistinctly that she hadn’t picked it up.
    It had not been a successful telephone call.
             
    “Hello?”
    “Mrs. Menhevern?”
    “Marie-Louise Menhevern, yes.”
    The voice was shrill and discouraging.
    “My name is Rooth, from the Maardam police. I’m calling in connection with a missing person. You telephoned us last June to inform us that, unfortunately, your husband seemed to have vanished, is that right?”
    “No. I never said anything about it being unfortunate. I merely said he’d disappeared.”
    “In June 1993?”
    “Precisely.”
    “Has he come back home?”
    “No.”
    “You haven’t had any sign of life from him?”
    “No. If I had, I’d have informed the police, of course.”
    “And you have no idea what’s become of him?”
    “Well, I assume he’s run off with another woman and is hidden away somewhere. That’s the type he is.”
    “Really? Where might he be, do you think?”
    “How the hell should I know? I’m sitting here watching the telly, constable. Are you sure you’re from the police, come to that?”
    “Of course.”
    “What do you want, then? Have you found him?”
    “That depends,” said Rooth. “How many testicles did he have?”
    “What the hell was that you said?”
    “Er, well, I mean, most men have two, obviously…. He hasn’t had an operation and lost one, or something like that?”
    “Hang on, I’m going to have this call traced.”
    “But Mrs. Menhevern, please, it’s not what you think….”
    “You are the worst sort, do you know that? You don’t even dare to come and look me in the eye. Telephone pig! If I could lay my hands on you I’d…”
    Rooth terminated the call in horror. Sat there for half a minute without moving. As if the slightest careless move might give him away. Stared out of the window as darkness began to fall over the town.
    No, he thought, I’m no good with women. That’s all there is to it.
    Then he decided to remove Claus Menhevern from the list of possible victims. Which meant there was only one left.
    Münster parked outside